


Stripped Down to the Skeletons

by coricomile



Category: Bones (TV), Criminal Minds
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 05:51:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3163637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Science and skin and sleep. The anatomy of an orgasm built up by hormones in his brain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stripped Down to the Skeletons

**Author's Note:**

> In my head, all Zack/Reid takes place in [yunmin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/yunmin/pseuds/yunmin)'s beautiful [Smile at Each Other's Welcome](http://archiveofourown.org/series/57894) verse. Go read that. You don't need to for this, but you should anyway.

Zack never had the knack for skin and muscle the way Dr. Saroyan did, but he knew enough. 

He touched the delicate inside of Spencer's wrist, fingertips tracing the thin scars wrapped around it. After the explosion, his sense of touch had been dulled, but he tried to feel the different texture of dermis and scar just the same. His knees hurt just a bit from kneeling on the carpet, but his current position gave him the best mobility and access. 

The inside of Spencer's left elbow was knotted, the muscle a little twisted beneath his skin. There scars there were darker, even if they were smaller. Evidence that he had injected into already damaged tissue. The vein below was no longer blown, but Zack could see where it had affected everything around it. 

"I feel like a corpse," Spencer said as Zack's fingers moved from his arm to his chest- bruising over his third rib, damage done by a bullet caught by his vest, thin lines on collarbone from a dull blade- down to his hip- sharp bone, thin skin, also bruised, but from a far less sinister cause- to his knee. 

"Would you like me to stop? Zack asked, even as he began examining the damage. 

The shot had been a clean through-and-through. Entrance wound on the left side of his knee, exit wound on the right. If the bullet had been larger, or the shot millimeters to the side, his patella would have been shattered. As it was, damage to the medial and lateral collateral ligaments would leave him with limited mobility for the rest of his life. 

"It's okay," Spencer said. He flipped a page in his book, but Zack didn't think he was actually reading it. The sounds of the pages turning were coming too slow. "I'm just throwing it out there."

Zack pressed his mouth to the scar on the inside of Spencer's knee. The skin there was smooth and thick, not quite as knotted as the joint of his elbow, but close. 

When he had been a child, his mother had kissed every scraped knee and patch of rug burn with the promise that a kiss always made things better. Even then, the logical side of Zack's brain had known there was no data to back that claim up, but he did always feel just a little better for it. He wondered if Diana had done the same for Spencer, or if Spencer merely cleaned and bandaged his own wounds with clinical efficiency. 

The thought made him sad, and he wasn't really sure why. 

Spencer put his book down on the coffee table, the bare skin of his side brushing against Zack's cheek. He scratched his fingers through Zack's hair, right behind his ear like he was a pet. It always surprised Zack how much he liked it. 

Zack touched the dark thatch of hair above Spencer’s penis, feeling the coarseness of it under his fingers. Spencer was still flaccid, his penis resting against his thigh, but it plumped a little when Zack ran his knuckles over it. 

Zack liked sex. It felt good and was biologically proven to release stress. There was no scientific reason for him to like sex with men, but that didn’t seem to matter to his body. He supposed he would never transfer his genes to offspring, and neither would Spencer, but maybe that was a good thing. 

Schizophrenia was linked to family. Autism wasn’t, not proven anyway, but between the two of them it might show up. Their lives were mostly good, if plagued with undue danger and a shortened expected lifespan, but Zack couldn’t imagine how that would affect a child. Plus, children were sticky. He didn’t like sticky. 

Spencer kept petting his hair, even when Zack placed a gentle kiss to his scrotum. It was lightly furred and smelled strongly of musk and pheromones. He licked the smooth skin and Spencer’s breathing stuttered. 

There wasn’t a scientific reason for oral sex, either. 

Spencer tasted like salt, smooth and hot. Zack wrapped his mouth around the glans and sucked gently, feeling him harden on his tongue. Spencer’s thighs spread and Zack fit himself neatly between them. 

Zack liked giving blowjobs. It was very soothing. There was a certain rhythm to it, head bobbing and suck here and lick there. He didn’t have to think. Not that he didn’t. Spencer’s soft sounds were like music, all measure and rhyme and gently rising crescendo as he fully hardens. 

The fingers in Zack’s hair tightened, but he neither pulled nor pushed. He wasn’t submissive, but he let Zack do what he wanted. Zack wrapped his hand around the shaft, spit lubricating the slide of his fingers against skin, and stroked what didn’t fit into his mouth. He flicked his tongue over the slit and tasted the sharp bitterness of pre-ejaculate. 

He rolled his own hips against the mattress, the pressure of the sheets against his erection sending shivers up his spine. Everything felt sharper like this, smell and taste and touch amplified. Spencer’s thighs shook against his sides, muscles tightening and bunching. 

Zack tucked his fingers under the heavy weight of Spencer’s scrotum, stroking the hot stretch of his perineum and pressing up into it. Spencer arched beautifully against him. His penis thickened, stretching Zack’s mouth, and his testicles drew up. 

“Zack,” Spencer choked out, his hand clenching and releasing as his orgasm approached. Zack sucked again, tongue pressing against the tender frenulum, and bitter ejaculate filled his mouth. 

Carefully, Zack pulled away, stroking the scar over Spencer’s knee, and reached for the box of tissues on the nightstand. He spit into and folded it over, leaving it on the nightstand. It would probably still be there in the morning. He wasn’t very good at neatness. 

Spencer pulled him in, hands loose and eyes dark. Zack laid against him, knees pressed to Spencer’s and stomach resting against his. He was still aroused, his penis curled toward his belly, but it was a lazy sort of arousal. 

“Thank you,” Spencer said, voice thick, and brushed his lips over Zack’s. 

“I like it,” Zack said, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “You don’t have to say thank you.”

“I want to,” Spencer said earnestly. Zack shrugged. It dragged his chest against Spencer’s, and Zack felt his nipples harden. 

Spencer licked his broad palm, tongue the same pink as cotton candy, and reached between them to wrap his fingers around Zack’s penis. It always felt amazing, pressure and endorphins and the release of oxytocin all floating through his brain and into his nervous system. 

Sex, Hodgins had told him once, was like pizza- even when it was bad, it was good. 

And Spencer had a memory like his, almost perfect. He had spent months cataloging the nerves of Zack’s body and making notes on his sighs and his moans until he could play them like the strings of an instrument. Spencer rubbed his thumb over Zack’s glans, and Zack shuddered against him. 

“You’re lovely,” Spencer whispered into Zack’s hair, his mouth moving against scalp. 

When Zack orgasmed, it spread through his whole body, shoulders and thighs and toes all clenching before relaxing. Stress relief and human connection and sticky mess on their stomachs in one short go. 

Zack slumped against Spencer, body too heavy for his arms to hold up anymore. Spencer held him, his wet hand outstretched to minimize the mess. Prolactin and vasopressin and that beautiful pulse of oxytocin spearheaded across his body. Science and skin and sleep. The anatomy of an orgasm built up by hormones in his brain.

“Up,” Spencer said softly. 

“No,” Zack moaned. He tightened his legs around Spencer’s, pillowing his head on the curve of Spencer’s shoulder. He felt sleepy and satisfied and comfortable. If given a few moments, he could pass out here. He’d wake up overheated and sticky- he really did hate sticky- but that was then, and then didn’t matter now. 

“You get to wash the sheets,” Spencer said. 

“Okay,” Zack said agreeably. He patted Spencer’s hip, feeling dermis slipping over muscle, and closed his eyes. “I like this.”

“Me, too,” Spencer said. He shifted, and then the sheet was over them, cool against heated flesh. 

Zack let his mind go quiet, and then there was dark.


End file.
